


Taking A Chance

by Talithax



Category: Mission: Impossible - Ghost Protocol (2011)
Genre: Doubt, First Time, Grief, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, M/M, Mild Language, Mild Sexual Content, POV First Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-08
Updated: 2013-09-08
Packaged: 2017-12-26 00:04:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,022
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/959207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Talithax/pseuds/Talithax
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Never having been one to believe in relationships between agents, has Ethan made a terrible mistake?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking A Chance

**Author's Note:**

> ~ Narrated by Ethan. Self-beta'd.
> 
> ~ Short, stand alone fic.
> 
> ~ As always, please... Enjoy!

=============  
Taking A Chance  
by TalithaX  
=============

 

Waking to the unfamiliar – and quite frankly unwelcome – sound of breathing coming from the other side of the mattress, I both stiffen and, with a great application of willpower, bite back the almost all consuming desire to groan.

Shit.

In fact, shit, shit, shit, and, just for good measure, shit some more.

It wasn't a dream.

Which means...

It was a mistake.

I've... made a mistake. A stupid, careless mistake that, really, should never have happened.

I didn't have to...

I shouldn't have...

Just... Dear God. What the... fuck... was I thinking?

Actually, not that it helps, I know what it was I was thinking. And, okay, at the time it made perfect, albeit peculiar, sense to me. I did what I thought I needed to do to... help... alleviate his pain. It was as... logical, knee jerk and instinctive, if you like, as it was... completely illogical and possibly even...

Wrong?

No. Make that, as it goes hand in hand with the fact it was a huge fucking mistake, it was definitely wrong. Completely and utterly wrong.

And I shouldn't have done it, shouldn't have gone down that path and placed myself in this particular, not to mention precarious, position.

Again, it was simply wrong. Not without its own caught-in-the-moment, fleeting pleasure, granted, and, yes, my motives were honestly both pure and – predominantly – selfless, but...

It was still a mistake.

A mistake that I'm not even entirely sure I know how to rectify.

I can't, regardless of how much I'd like to, simply pretend that it never happened – because it did. It did happen, and even if I were to slink out of the room now and make a point of avoiding him for however long that I could, he'd... still have the same memories that I do, still know that it wasn't simply a figment of his imagination and had indeed actually happened. Nor, however, do I exactly want to have a sit down discussion about it. I understand, of course I do, that it would probably be for the best, that I could – fall prey to relying on well known sayings – nip things in the bud and clear the air before even more damage was inadvertently done, but... How? The stakes – the very structure of the team, our friendship – being too high, if I went about it badly and made an already sensitive issue worse, it...

It just doesn't bear thinking about.

So, that which is done not being able to be undone and all that crap, basically, I'm fucked.

I did something I shouldn't have, opened a door that I never should have stepped through, and...

Here I am, struggling to get my head around both the coming aftermath and just how unbelievably stupid I've been.

You don't, you just don't, sleep with a team mate. Especially not one – and, no, I'm not wanting to dissect this specific train of thought and what it might actually mean – you actually care about and want to keep working with. It's... just not the done thing. Sex may be one thing, but if emotions start to rear their ugly head they can run the risk of interfering with objectivity in the field, and, simply put, that's just something I've always believed needs to be avoided at all costs. I care enough about the members of my team as it is without...

It...

It's just not worth the risk and, somehow, I have to put a very definite stop to things now before they go any further and I...

... Give in and accept that maybe, just maybe, it wasn't a horrible mistake and maybe, just maybe we could... make something of it.

But... As merely thinking along those lines is yet another mistake all in itself, I need to stop lying here being held captive by my going nowhere thoughts and make some sort of a move. I can't, after all, just continue to lie here and, again, pretend that things aren't teetering as close to the edge as they are. I may, not that I really want to admit this to myself, want to, but I can't.

I just can't.

Biting back a heavy sigh, I open my eyes and very slowly sit up. Sleep having descended on me without warning, the room is still brightly lit from the overhead lights having been left on and I can't help but glance down at Will as, thankfully, he remains fast asleep and blissfully oblivious to my inner turmoil. What I see not only very nearly takes my breath away, but it also takes me immediately back to that moment however long ago it was now, and... 

The feeling... 

The strange, unfamiliar need to soothe and protect, it's still there. Despite knowing that it was a mistake, one I have to do whatever it takes to put behind me, it's as raw and as dominate as it was then and, curiously, it leaves me feeling as though I'm completely out of my depth and sinking fast. I mean, it's not as though I haven't seen, or, for that matter, felt for myself the results of having received a severe beating before. Hell, I've seen the injuries caused and, again, very much felt them for myself, far too many times than I care to remember. It wasn't, in other words, either new, or a surprise to me.

Only...

He was in so much pain. The adrenaline having worn off and the threat gone, there was nothing to take his mind off all the different aches and pains emanating from all of his injuries and, despite clearly trying hard not to show it, it was obvious that he was in a wretched place. The beating having been both thorough and concentrated, he was black, blue and red pretty much all over and I... hated seeing it. Just as I hated knowing that he'd willingly allowed them to take out their brutish rage on him in order to draw their attention away from Benji. It was a noble gesture, one that Benji made sure, with much babbling and repeating of himself, that I was aware of, and, okay, because he's not the fittest of agents or one of the best fighters, I would have tried to protect him myself, but... Shit. Did they really have to put that much effort into taking Will up on his offer? I don't blame him any more than I blame Benji – these things happen and all the training in the world can't quash human nature and the instinctual urge to protect those weaker than yourself – but I can blame myself for exposing them to such a situation in the first place and, regardless of knowing that it's not going to achieve anything, I do.

Just as, and again with knowing full well that it's not going to achieve a damn thing, knowing that Jane and I only just arrived in the nick of time, that they'd literally been going to kill him before no doubt moving onto Benji if we hadn't got there when we did... gnaws at me. Too close... It was all just too close and too messy.

And...

These things add up. God knows, as I'd like to be able to call myself immune to such things, I don't want them to, but they do. I could have lost two agents today. More importantly, far more importantly, in fact, I could have lost two friends, two of the small core group of people I allow myself to both trust and feel close to.

To but it bluntly, the day sucked. The mission went haywire, Will and Benji were compromised, Jane and I spent a few anxious hours searching for them before only just managing to find them with seconds to spare, Benji's traumatised and is now lucky enough to have something new to have nightmares about, and Will – not for the want of trying on the behalf of quite a number of people – is barely still in one piece.

And, yet again, these things simply add up.

By the time it was all over and we were back at the motel I was well and truly ready to call it quits for the day. Although I wasn't injured and in a somewhat blasé way it was ultimately a case of all's well that had ended well, the day had nonetheless been a hard one and, once I'd made sure Will was okay – or as close to okay as he was likely to get – all I'd wanted to do was crash into bed, pull the covers over my head, and just put it all behind me. Solely in the spirit of sharing the load, and worked out simply by who was closest to us in the car when we got out, Jane went with Benji into his room to try to do what she could to, well, brighten his crappy day, and I scored the very dazed and confused Will.

It was just one of those things. I didn't think anything of it and Will simply gave every indication of taking my arm-around-his-shoulder, guiding presence for granted. Protocol, not to mention common sense, dictates that an injured agent needs to have their injuries tended to, if not by a trained medical professional then at the very least by another agent. We're a stoic – read, stubborn, evasive, and generally pig headed – bunch by nature and, speaking from personal experience here, think nothing of doing whatever we can to hide the extent of our injuries from others. It rarely achieves anything and, having used most of the moves ourselves at some time or another, we're all incredibly adept at seeing through the 'no, no. I'm fine. Really. It's just a scratch' routine. Speaking for myself, if I'm the one trying to pretend that all is perfectly fine (regardless of how obviously it really isn't), then the unwanted attention bugs the hell out of me. On the other hand though, if I'm wearing my 'team leader' cap and it's one of my agents doing it, then, suddenly I'm not only all for the rule but I'll also go out of my way to enforce it. Do as I say, in other words, as opposed to do as I prefer to do.

So, helping Will into his room and checking him over was simply, not that I honestly believed he was in any position to care one way or another about what I, or anyone else for that matter, was doing, was non negotiable. It was my... duty... to see that he was okay and that, really, was just all there was to it. What's more, there was nothing to it. Nothing out of the ordinary, certainly nothing unexpected and, seeing as it was case of 'been there, done that' before, nor was it anything new. At one time or another we've all tendered to each other's wounds before and it's so par for the course that no one thinks anything of it. The same goes for what the more prudish members of society might see as the over exposure of bare flesh. Nudity in our line of work, given the situations we find ourselves in on an all too frequent a basis, not to mention all the times we find ourselves having to change on the fly, is just another one of those things. Whether you want to see it or not there's a good chance you'll find yourself staring at it at one point or another and that too is just all there is to it. Male or female or big, small or average, you both get to see it all and quickly learn, with no degree of interest whatsoever, to take it for granted.

I didn't think anything of seeing to Will's wounds because, basically, there was nothing... to... think about. He needed assistance and I was able to give it. End of story.

Well...

That should have been the end of it.

Only...

Tuned solely into the task at hand, maybe I wasn't paying enough attention. Alternatively, maybe I was just tired or simply careless. Either way, I never meant it. Focussed both on keeping the bowl of warm water balanced on the edge of the bed and the flannel from dripping all over the mattress, not to mention trying my hardest to keep my ministrations as gentle as possible, I never meant to brush the palm of my hand across his bare nipple. It was... an innocent gesture, done without either intent or thought.

Will, who'd been sitting there slumped shouldered and doing a damn fine job of impersonating a barely animated zombie, however, reacted as though I'd just shot him with a taser. His dull blue eyes widened, he sucked his breath in and, for the first time since I'd helped him down onto the mattress, his gaze briefly met mine and his lips parted as though he was going to say something. He didn't though and, as I tried to work out – just what the fuck had happened – whether I'd inadvertently hurt him, simply lowered his head and closed his eyes.

Shaken by this turn of events, although I couldn't even really explain why, I tentatively went back to what I'd been doing and...

Did it again.

I brushed my hand lightly against his nipple, and...

Déjà vu. 

His eyes widened. He sucked his breath in. Only, this time when our eyes met we actually held each other's gaze and Will, who hadn't said a word since dozing off in the car during the drive back, just had to go and... make the moment all too real by giving voice to it.

“Ethan... Please. Don't tease me. Given the day I've had I... I can't... I... I just couldn't bear it if you're playing with me...”

It had only been as innocent a gesture as it had been meaningless, a mistake that never should have been acknowledged let alone seized upon. Yet, by highlighting it like he did, first by his instinctive physical reaction and then by both what he said and the almost pleading tone of his voice, Will made it all too real. He also effectively laid his cards on the table by letting me know without actually coming out and saying it that, no, I wasn't alone in having...

… Wondered.

Contemplated. Considered. Imagined. Fantasised. 

Wanted.

It was ridiculous. Wrong. A mistake waiting to happen and an affront to common sense.

He was badly injured, his sense of right and wrong addled by both the pain and the memory of what he'd endured. I knew, or should have known, better. I had a task to focus on and complete. Will needed his rest. Cold, hard logic screamed at me to back away. It wasn't the time or the place, and... while thinking about it, about Will and how much he'd come to mean to me, not to mention how many times I'd jerked off thinking about him, was one thing, having it become a reality was never meant to be so much as a possibility.

Team mates. IMF rules and regulations. My position as team leader. Logic. The myriad of things that could go wrong.

But...

Perhaps I'm just weaker than I care to admit to, but, honestly, what else could I have done?

It had nothing to do with the long held belief that men think solely with their cock (if it's on offer then it would be an insult to males everywhere not to go for it) either as I justified it by making it all about Will. His body having suffered enough, he needed – and obviously wanted – something pleasurable to take his mind off the pain, and...

Again, what else could I have done?

His need was palpable, I still wanted to do whatever I could to help him and, in the end, it was just... natural. Comfort in the form of sex. A warm, gentle touch roaming over bruised and torn flesh to, at least momentarily, banish the pain.

That, and it was hardly what you'd exactly call a hardship on my part.

The circumstances were all wrong, as was the fact that it was even happening at all, but...

This was Will, someone I cared about and who, yes, I wanted. It was also about the heat of the moment. Human nature. Desire.

It was all too much to say no to and I allowed myself to fully embrace the unexpected gift I'd received.

Too exhausted to rush things, we made the most of each other's bodies for what must have been the better part of an hour before, both incredibly sated and content, slipping easily off to sleep.

As good – and it was, it was very good – as it was though, and regardless of my attempts to justify it at the time, it was still a mistake. A mistake that I now have to, while all the time hoping that the damage caused isn't already insurmountable, somehow rectify.

It was a mistake. Not only that, but it has the possibility of becoming a messy one that has the risk of making the brief moment of pleasure seem well and not truly worth the aftermath.

I...

I can't undo it, and hiding isn't going to achieve anything, but...

I have to get out of here.

I can't just remain lying here, mentally cringing at the worsening sight of Will's injuries as the bruises bloom quite literally before my eyes and going over and over things in my head. My fucked up thought process won't improve any in my room, but at least there I'll be safe from Will waking up and witnessing the confused expression on his face as he slowly puts two and two together and remembers everything before no doubt wanting to talk to me about it.

Choking back another sigh, I force my limbs into life and slowly climb off the bed before carefully pulling a blanket over Will and, once I've scooped my clothes up from the floor, tip-toeing over to the door. Opening it, I step into the main, living room of our motel suite and am in the process of quietly pulling the door closed when my sixth sense kicks in and I realise that I'm not alone.

Make that... Naked, and not alone.

Of course.

Any other day though, this wouldn't embarrass me so much as I'd be royally pissed off at my own misfortune and stupidity. Today, however, I just don't even care. I mean, what's another fuck up in a long line of fuck ups?

Slowly turning around, I find Jane sitting on the sofa and gazing at me with a – thankfully – unreadable expression on her face. A number of guns, some still in pieces, are laid out on the coffee-table in front of her and I know, just by the sight of them, that she's feeling the day's lingering effects as much as I am. The art of cleaning weapons being one that she both enjoys and finds calming, it's her 'go to' act whenever she's either feeling stressed or looking for a way to kill time and I can't help but suspect, going on how many she's managed to collect, that she's planning to spend all night on them.

There being not a single fucking thing I can do to save face at this point, I shove my clothes under my arm and, as I casually – or, as casually as I can manage – pull my boxers on, murmur, “How's Benji?”

“Asleep,” Jane replies, giving me a funny look before shrugging. “Sound... asleep,” she continues. “I let him repeat himself for an hour or so, and hopefully said all the right things to get through to him that everything was going to be okay and that none of it was his fault, before... well... sedating him and just leaving him to sleep.” Pausing, she shrugs again and goes back to polishing the barrel in her hands. “And... Will? How's he going?”

“He's asleep too,” I respond, hesitating over whether I should bother to continue to get dressed or whether, seeing as the damage is already done -- and how – I just conclude this conversation in my underwear before strolling across to my room. “He looks a mess, and God knows he'll be sore for a while, but I'm hoping that it looks worse than it actually is. Nothing seems to be broken at any rate.”

“Good.” Sighing, Jane places both the barrel and her cleaning cloth on the coffee-table before standing up and walking over to me. “I'm not, even though it goes without saying that I really want to, going to ask,” she states softly as she places her hand lightly on my shoulder and, to my distinct discomfort, looks me in the eye. “I am, however, going to say... one word... to you whether you want to hear it or not.”

Shrugging off her touch, I take half a step back and, as I hug my clothes loosely to my chest, simply wait for her to have her say. I'm quite sure I won't want to hear whatever it is she's going to say but, c'est la vie. Walking off would only be rude and she'd probably just follow me and corner me in my room anyway. So... Whatever. It's easier to just let her hit me with it and be done with it than dragging it out and annoying her in the process.

Nodding to herself, Jane follows my lead by taking a step back and, suddenly looking far more tired than she did a second ago, drops her gaze. “Hanaway,” she states plainly. “That's all. Just... Hanaway.”

“Hanaway,” I repeat with a sigh as, wearily accepting that I was right in that I really didn't want to hear it, I lean against the wall and, tilting my head back, look up at the ceiling. “Jane... Uh... It's not what you're thinking...”

“You just keep on trying to convince yourself of that, Ethan,” Jane interrupts in a voice that's as flat as it is soft. “Look. It's none of my business, I know that, and you've got to believe me when I say that the last thing I want to do is... interfere or stick my nose in where it's not wanted, but...” Trailing off, she takes a deep breath and, shifting closer to me, closes her hand around my upper arm. “I used to think the worst thing that could happen would be to... give in... and... allow myself to go along for the ride, you know, just to let it see where it takes me... Uh... Us. Where it takes... us. Now, though...” Pausing again as, placing my hand over hers, I lower my head to reluctantly meet her eyes, Jane smiles at me grimly and, quickly blinking back tears, shakes her head. “I know now though that... taking a chance... isn't the worst thing at all as... not taking a chance and having it taken, no, stolen from you is worse. It's far, far worse...”

“Jane...” I get what she's saying. I do. I still don't want to hear, or even think about it, but... She doesn't have to say any more. She really doesn't, as I get it. God knows, I get it.

Take the risk and embrace what you want, or have been lucky enough to have been given, before something unthinkable happens and you lose it forever.

“If it's what you want, what you... both... want,” Jane murmurs, placing her free hand over mine and giving it a quick squeeze before pulling both hands free and cursorily rubbing her eyes, “then don't make the mistake of... suffocating yourself in so-called logic... and not giving it a go. Sure, it mightn't work, but... It might. And... From my hindsight tinged perspective, that makes the chance... and the risk... and all the fear... worth it...”

Schooling her face into an impassive mask, Jane shrugs and begins to walk in the direction of the suite's main bathroom. “You'll do what you want to do, of course,” she adds over her shoulder, “but... Just think about what I said. When he's gone, he's... gone.”

Her piece – truly succinctly, and how – said, she leaves me feeling flat footed and ever-so-slightly as though my head is literally spinning from the beautiful, heart-breaking simplicity of her statement and disappears into the bathroom.

When he's gone, he's... gone.

No more chances, just the dull, unrelenting lament of... what could have perhaps been, and the pointless, insidious self-doubt and regret of the 'what ifs' and the 'if onlys'.

Jane didn't take the chance, and Hanaway was cruelly taken from her. Both knowing and... feeling... what she does now, if she could have her time over again she'd do things differently. I could see it, the lingering pain of loss and missed opportunities, in her eyes. She played it safe and now she wishes that she hadn't, that she'd taken the chance when it was on offer and allowed herself to, regardless of what the consequences may have ended up being, be caught up in it.

She didn't though, and Hanaway died.

Will could have died today. If we'd been a minute later, he probably would have.

I'd have missed my opportunity for good instead of just... making a mistake.

If, that is, it was a mistake.

My reasons for thinking it was still stand, but, what Jane said is right too. We can protect ourselves and toe the party line by locking our hearts away and refusing to so much as consider attempting a relationship, or we can... live a little and take the risk. It's almost ironic, given our line of work and the stupid number of risks we make to life and limb all in the name of IMF, that when it comes to our personal lives we dither, and hesitate, and err on the side of caution. I'll think nothing of climbing up the outside of the Burj Khalifa without a protective harness, but the idea of opening myself up to Will fills me with an odd, if not downright irrational, sense of both doubt and fear.

If he'd died I wouldn't be standing here, frozen to the spot and clutching my clothes to my chest, doubting myself and not knowing what to do.

No.

I'd be in mourning and alternating my time between drinking myself into a stupor and raising a futile fist to God for having taken him from us.

And that, let's face it, would be worse. A million times worse.

Still unsure as to what – man up and return to Will, or continue to live in my own head and dither? – exactly it is I should do now, I'm toying with the idea of pulling my clothes on just to give myself something to do when I hear what sounds like movement coming from inside the bedroom. My concern for Will, who's in no condition to be moving on his own and who'll probably, not that he'll like it, need assistance to simply make it to the toilet, trumping my own indecisiveness, I open the door without even pausing to consider my actions and step back into the room. As I'd half expected would be the case, Will has somehow dragged himself into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress and he makes for such a miserable, bedraggled sight that I can't help but gasp.

“What on earth are you doing up?” I mutter, dropping my clothes on the floor as I hurry over to the bed and crouch down in front of him. “Will? Are you okay? Can I get you anything?”

“Pyjamas,” Will mumbles with a grimace as, no doubt trying to get me into focus, he blinks down at me. “I... I woke up and was cold, so I... uh... I tried to stand up, but... uh... I must have moved awkwardly because, well, now feeling cold seems to be the least of my problems...”

Choosing against telling him that he should have called out to me because, hey, it's not as though he would have known where I'd disappeared to, I go instead with, “Just... You stay there and I'll get them for you,” and, standing up, make my way over to his neatly packed bag. Grabbing a pair of black cotton pyjamas from near the top, I return to the bed and, as he gazes at me listlessly, carefully help him into the pants. Although I try to be gentle, he still has to bite down on his bottom lip to stop himself from either whimpering or groaning and, knowing that he has to be in considerable pain, I just hate it. I hate that he feels like this and that, really, all I have to offer him is more painkillers and maybe, if I choose to continue down the path I'm now honestly considering, my company.

The time on the clock-radio embedded in the bedside table telling me that, yes, four hours have – barely – passed since he first took some pain relief, I place my hand lightly on his knee and murmur, “I think it's time for some more pills, don't you?”

“No,” Will surprises me by replying even though he's struggling not to tremble with pain and his breathing is laboured from trying to stoically work through it. “Training... We... We're not supposed to rely on painkillers in case...”

“In case we're in a situation where we don't have access to them and need to both work through the pain and do whatever it takes to make it through,” I finish with a sigh as, giving his knee a quick squeeze, I walk into the en suite and get a glass of water before picking up the bottle of pills by the side of the basin and returning to the room. “I know all that. Hell, I've been there,” I continue drily as I hook my foot around the leg of a chair and drag it over to the bed. “What's more, it's a sensible rule to keep in mind, but...” Taking a seat on the chair, I balance the glass on my knee and tip two of the painkillers into the palm of my hand. “The mission is over, Will. We're all here, we're all safe, and no one's going anywhere until everyone's fit enough for us all to be able to travel together, so... Please. As I can't bear seeing you like this, please ignore the training manual for a moment and just take the damn pills.”

“I...” His desire to play by the rules deserting him as, going by the face he pulls, another spark of pain works through his body, Will nods and slowly holds out his hand. “Thanks,” he whispers as, without either complaint or hesitation, he swallows the pills with a mouthful of water from the glass I hold up to his lips. “Here's to hoping they're of the quick acting variety...”

“Here's hoping.” Flashing Will a quick smile, I hold up his – old fashioned, button down, grandpa style, that on just about anyone else I'd roll my eyes at but which, on Will, who I've seen wearing it before, looks oddly endearing – pyjama top and drape it over his shoulders. “Come on. Let's get you into this and back into bed.”

“The top, yes,” Will replies as, with obvious effort, he slides his arms into the sleeves, “but... Let's just give the pills a minute or two to kick in before making me move, yeah...”

Nodding my acceptance, I murmur, “If that's what you want,” before settling back down in the chair and, leaning forward, starting to do up the buttons on his top. “You know, wearing these, anyone would think you were old before your time,” I comment lightly as, making a bit of a show out of smoothing the collar into place, I grin at Will.

“Right now I feel old before my time too,” he mutters, looking, it just has to be said, slightly bemused as to why I'm grinning at him over such a mundane point. “But... I like them and... even you've got to admit they're currently a better look than the mess they're covering.”

“When you put it that way...” Sliding my arm over Will's waist, I gently draw him forward and, with my other hand curled around the back of his neck, rest his forehead on my shoulder. To my relief he puts up no resistance to my admittedly somewhat random move and follows my silent prompts without hesitation. “You'll live,” I whisper. “Just... Hang in there and if there's anything I can do to help you then all you have to do is say the word.”

Relaxing against me with a sigh, Will rests his hand warmly on my knee and, in a move that immediately reminds me of a contented cat kneading a blanket, strokes his fingers along my thigh. “You've been doing such a good job so far that I don't feel as though I even have to say anything,” he states softly. “Ethan... I... Thank you. I just want you to know how grateful I am for...”

“Shhh... There's nothing to thank me for,” I interrupt as, tightening my arm around his waist in order to keep him firmly in place, I begin to rub careful, gentle circles in his back with the palm of my hand. “Now... Shhh... Just concentrate on feeling the painkillers kick in and then we'll get you back into bed.”

“Mmm...” Clearly lacking the energy to argue with me, Will continues to knead my thigh as, feeling perfectly incapable of stopping, I keep stroking his back. Comfortable with the position – it's just... nice. Simple, natural even, no strings attached comfort that I can't help but shake the feeling means more than the sex-as-pain-relief we indulged in earlier – we've found ourselves in, we stay like this for close to half an hour before, caught up in the moment and feeling the most confident I have all day, I open my mouth without thinking and...

… Give voice to it instead of just keeping it to my fool self.

“It doesn't have to be a mistake...”

The mere concept of being involved in a possible mistake of any description being one of those things guaranteed to instantly put Will on edge, he stiffens at my careless statement and, jerking his head back, gazes at me wide-eyed. “Mistake?” he murmurs, frowning. “Did I do something...”

“Not you,” I state, quickly cutting him off as, smiling weakly, I grab his hand and squeeze it. “Don't... Please don't look so worried, Will. You haven't made a mistake... Uh... It's me. I... I thought I might have made a mistake. In fact, I was convinced of it, but... Not now. I can see now that I was wrong...”

“Mistake?” Will repeats, stifling a yawn as, cocking his head to the side, he tentatively squeezes my hand back, “You... The great Ethan Hunt, you don't make mistakes...”

“No.” My mind made up and feeling as though a weight has been lifted from my shoulders, I broaden my smile and, helping Will up from the bed, hug him to me. He's wrong, of course. We all make mistakes and I'm certainly no exception. I could even be about to make an awful one now, one that could just as easily change everything for the worse as it could for the better, but...

I don't care.

I've made my choice, be it rightly or wrongly, and that's...

That I'm going to do it.

I'm not going to make the same mistake that Jane did and I'm going to take the chance.

I'm going to – currently literally – embrace Will and what he offers with everything I've got and... What will be will be.

“You're right,” I continue, tightening my arms around Will and, as I plant a kiss on the top of his head, loving how he instinctively responds by slowly sliding his arms around my waist and hugging me back. “I don't make mistakes.”

~ end ~


End file.
